And the Academy Award for Best Oscar Prediction Goes to...

My older brother, Gordo, his girlfriend, Brittany, and I usually make bets on who will win the Oscars.  We keep a running tally of who guessed correctly for each of the categories, and then the overall winner gets bragging rights until next year. 

It’s usually a friendly competition, but this year the stakes were raised on the Best Director category.

Gordo and Brittany said Fincher (The Social Network).  I said Hooper (The King’s Speech).

Their reasoning for Fincher:  he deserves it.

My reasoning for Hooper: complex equations involving statistical analysis and even one very intense psychic dream about a crazy gypsy woman named LaQuisha who looked at bird droppings before proclaiming that Hooper would be victorious.

Turns out that statistics and LaQuisha’s bird droppings were right.

And I find this extremely funny because Gordo and Brittany prepared for this night by watching all of the major contenders in all of the major categories.  Which means that they spent lots of money going to theaters to better prepare themselves.  They could practically tell you anything you wanted to know about each of the movies.

I, on the other hand, didn’t watch ANY of the movies.  Not a single one.

Now did that make them more qualified to choose than me.  It should have; however, I like statistics.

See “the Academy”—whoever that includes—hardly ever picks best director based on merits.  They pick the movie that they think should win Best Picture and then Best Director automatically follows.

Therefore, since all three of us agreed that The King’s Speech would win the Oscar for Best Picture, it logically followed that we should vote for Hooper.  But noooo.  They didn’t want to listen to me.  They said I was crazy.  Crazy!  Me!

So just before they announced the winner for Best Director, my brother decides to raise the stakes.  Instead of simple bragging rights, he wagered an expensive bottle of alcohol of the winner’s choice—that Fincher would beat out Hooper.

Guess who’s expecting a nice, expensive bottle of German wine?  In fact, the perfect wine to enjoy with celebratory cheesecake.

P.S.—In case you’re interested in the totals.  I won the bragging rights as well.

Tiffany – 17

Gordo – 14

Brittany - 13

Educational Alcohol at 8 O'clock in the Morning

For the last two days, I’ve been drinking non-stop from 8 a.m. – 6 p.m.  And before you think I’m a drunken alcoholic, reconsider.  This wasn’t just drinking.  This was tasting.  I’m currently enrolled in a wine class at USC, which means that I have to drink for academic purposes.  That’s right – academia.

Now, not only was I “forced” to drink 40 different varieties of wine on Saturday and Sunday, but I also had to learn everything that has ever been learned about wine.

Now, maybe it’s just me, but doesn’t that seem contradictory?

They want me to drink a ton of wine—to the point that I have a nice buzz—then they want me to learn stuff.  I may not be a teacher, but I’m pretty sure that isn’t a good idea.

“Drink this.  And this.  Oh this too.  Now, what type of soil is famous in the Médoc Region of the Loire Valley in France?”

Drinking makes people act like stupid idiots; however, the teachers from the Master Sommelier Guild demanded perfect memory recall.  Then again, they’re Master Sommeliers—they must have built an extreme alcohol immunity.  Unfortunately, I hadn’t built that high a tolerance.  Which made this one of the hardest classes I have ever taken. 

Trying to remember everything about wine from France, Italy, Spain, New Zealand, Australia, South America, South Africa, Portugal, Madeira, and the U.S. along with information on beer, spirits, and wine serving techniques is hard enough sober.  But I had to do it buzzed.

But if you’re wondering, I passed the final exam—but barely.  I’m excited to announce that I’m officially an introductory level sommelier.

And what do you think I did after passing this exam?  A smarter person probably would have gone home and slept or watched the Super Bowl with some friends, but I never claimed to be a smarter person—especially after consuming glass after glass of wine.  I just had to celebrate this momentous occasion.

Now how to celebrate?  I know!  Champagne!  So a fellow classmate and I went to the nearest bar and celebrated by drinking yet another couple glasses of wine (including champagne) and eating victory cheesecake.

Weekend well spent.

Dog Vodka

While surfing around on the internet as a I tend to do when I get bored, I came across a recipe for Skittles vodka.  And then I thought, “Hey, I like Skittles.  I like Vodka.  Let’s make this happen.  I wanna taste the rainbow.” 

So yesterday after class, I stopped to pick up some Skittles, vodka, and a case of water bottles. 

Last night, I began.   The first aspect of my work that might have looked bizarre was the assortment of glasses, cups, mugs, and bowls I had strewn all over the table.  Let me explain.  In order for me to do this recipe, I needed empty water bottles.  So I had to empty the water out of the bottles that I had just bought.

Now, I’m of the “waste not, want not” persuasion, so there was no way that I was pouring all of that water down the sink, and I couldn’t find a single container that was large enough to hold it all.  So, instead, I just began to pour the water into whatever cup, mug, glass, vase, or bowl that I could find.  I’m sure that I looked like some insane water hoarder.

Then I began to sort the Skittle and to place them, one at a time, into their corresponding empty water bottles.

All during this process, as I’m meticulously sorting the Skittles into empty water bottles at a table full of assorted water containers, my roommates began to return to the apartment.  Each one walked in, stood by the table watching me, and then walked away.  No one said anything.

I’ve decided this is either for one of two reasons:

Reason 1:

That’s just the way I am.  I’m weird.  Returning to the apartment and seeing me hunched over the dining room table as I sort Skittles into water bottles like a gorilla mom picking lice off of a baby chimp, is nothing exciting.  Just an average day in my life.

Even, if they walked in and I was chopping up body parts dressed as a psycho clown, I don’t think that they would care.

"Oh, there goes that crazy Tiffany again.  What she doing today?  Chopping someone up while in a clown costume.  Okay, whatever.  Who wants pizza?"

Reason 2:

The Vodka.  

There I was being my normal crazy self beside a very large bottle of vodka.  Which may have caused them to think I’d had a little bit too much to drink before deciding that I needed to start some crazed Skittle experiment.

Once the I was finished, the Skittles were left to dissolve in vodka; however, the problem arose of what to do with all of the remaining water.  I couldn't leave all of those glasses of water on the table.

There was only one solution… Dog Vodka.

I cleaned the empty vodka bottle and put all of the water inside.  I now use that Smirnoff bottle full of water to fill my dog’s water bowl--my dog only deserves the best. 

I can hardly wait for my parents to visit so that they can see how responsible and mature I am when I pour my dog a long stiff bowl of the good stuff.